. Pistolero .

The next sweep of Joshua's thumb over the tip of Marcelo's cock brought the latter back into the present. He allowed himself a single, small roll of his hips, just to press further into it. Lips parting at the tug on his lower one, Marcelo tilted his head after, trying to focus on the other's question past the gentle waves of want lapping just shy of 'too much'.

Though his breaths softly shook and stumbled, his gaze remained steady, his tone measured and sincere. "...I don't know. Try to find somewhere else that doesn't have my wanted poster. Find what work I can, for money or food. Go south when it's close to November." A short pause for a hum, as he nuzzled their foreheads together and answered Joshua's attentions with another squeeze of their lengths. "There's still a bounty on my head, to the rest of the country. Nothing I can do but... go back to surviving. It'll just be a better time with you around," he managed a small but earnest smile. "That's all I want."

While Marcelo answered his question, he wasn't quite certain what expression lingered on his countenance, until the gentle nuzzle of their foreheads and a squeeze of the other man's hand still wrapped around their cocks. Another curve of his lips appeared, now much softer; they felt so nice in divergent ways, and he reveled in them both. However, those four final words brought Joshua's attention back to what was being said.

The suggestion of simply surviving and that his company would at least make it ' better ' was capped off with a smile that struck him as almost resigned. Releasing his hold on Marcelo's arousal, he brought his thumb to his mouth so that he might lick it clean of the smeared evidence of his companion's release a few minutes ago. It tasted good. Then, Joshua cradled Marcelo's face in his palms. "Marcelo, that sounds damn awful." Although he could have started better than that, he wasn't one for retreading prior sentiments in an attempt to revise them — better to forge on ahead! "Survivin's not the same as livin'. I want you to live." He thought he might want that for Marcelo more than he wanted almost anything else.

His own smile tilted a bit when Joshua's teasing relented and ended with the other man licking that thumb clean, as if Joshua was still savoring whatever he could. Marcelo let his own grasp loosen, fingers trailing down over the gambler's length before sliding up the vee of one hip onto Joshua's waist. In the meantime, he leaned his head into the other's palms with a quiet hum of a sigh.

So Joshua's initial blunt answer felt like a blindside. Marcelo's expression dropped, eyes wide under a furrowing brow as a cold prickle of embarrassment pushed heat into his ears and cheeks. He glanced aside, jaw set, but Joshua speaking again stopped Marcelo from backing away.

'I want you to live'. So did he. God, it was all he'd ever wanted. But too many men with laws and six chambers on their side had decided different, fencing in his want with the blood of his father, of his mother, of Fito and Seve, and almost of Joshua too. Somewhere in all that loss, he had to believe living would just be surviving, that for a man like him there could be nothing more. That all he could do was find solace in the comforts left to him.

But now here was Joshua, saying it was awful because, apparently, the man thought he deserved more. Deserved the same as everyone else. Deserved that old want back - more than it, even, as the full breadth he'd suppressed had only grown with age. And damn it all, Joshua made it sound so possible.

He wanted to sear the look on Joshua's face into his memory, wanted it to be the first of many pleasured expressions he'd carry with him to his grave.

The grip on his hair made his lips part wider and his cock twitch just once more. And even so, Marcelo didn't close his eyes. He kept his hips still, instead working his hand in slow short strokes with more regular squeezes. Head held in place for now, after that beautiful cry of his name Marcelo murmured praise in lieu of littering kisses, in a mixture of English and Spanish. He at least managed to nudge their noses together, then let out a stuttered half-vocal sigh - lashes fluttering with the instinct to fall shut - when Joshua's slick thumb rubbed over his flushed tip. Marcelo barely held back from squirming, and poured that energy into returning Joshua's kiss.

'With you', 'to you'... either way, he knew his answer.

Naturally, that sigh and the fluttering of dark lashes as he circled his thumb around the head of Marcelo's cock only encouraged him further, to say nothing of the kiss pressed against his lips.

Joshua tugged at the dark hair still curled around his fingers with every ensuing press of that perfect mouth against his own. ' Just you and me, Joshua. ' Dammit if that simple phrase didn't make him shiver again like a single finger trailing along his spine, a sensation he hadn't known could be prompted by words alone until Marcelo. "You 'n me." The moment when he had stormed out of the saloon earlier that evening already felt akin to a distant recollection, while the memory of slipping his two of hearts ( flame-eaten along the edges, just like he was ) into Marcelo's pocket was permeated with the most vivid color. Perhaps now, some of those harrowing dreams that had been mentioned about Joshua might be about this instead. Drawing his thumb back and forth along Marcelo's slit, he caught the other man's bottom lip between his teeth for a brief beat before asking, "What d'you want, Marcelo? After Rose Creek?"

For his part, even with all that time spent recuperating, he hadn't considered much where he might go because he never did — only that he and Marcelo would be there together, and then wherever came next after that. But did Joshua's companion picture certain destinations, envision particular routes? Suddenly, as his thumb maintained its arcing path, he was curious.

The next sweep of Joshua's thumb over the tip of Marcelo's cock brought the latter back into the present. He allowed himself a single, small roll of his hips, just to press further into it. Lips parting at the tug on his lower one, Marcelo tilted his head after, trying to focus on the other's question past the gentle waves of want lapping just shy of 'too much'.

Though his breaths softly shook and stumbled, his gaze remained steady, his tone measured and sincere. "...I don't know. Try to find somewhere else that doesn't have my wanted poster. Find what work I can, for money or food. Go south when it's close to November." A short pause for a hum, as he nuzzled their foreheads together and answered Joshua's attentions with another squeeze of their lengths. "There's still a bounty on my head, to the rest of the country. Nothing I can do but... go back to surviving. It'll just be a better time with you around," he managed a small but earnest smile. "That's all I want."

For now, Marcelo didn't want to pull away the hands he did have, not even by a hair's breadth. It felt too good, and sparked too many of those perfect sounds from Joshua, to ever think of letting go. 'I'm not going nowhere'. He knew his favorite gambler meant every word. He also knew promises could be broken by others who hadn't made them. So Marcelo still gave his all, still held Joshua close and heated and slick, still let his newly-admitted feelings pour out of every movement and expression. And when Joshua wanted them in Marcelo's sounds too, the vaquero was happy to oblige - especially when that tender touch to his lip was followed by an impassioned rake of blunt nails down his back.

His mouth dropped open for an unabashed moan as his answer, both pleading and encouraging, at the prickling lines raised on his skin. The curve of Marcelo's spine dipped, grinding his length that much firmer against Joshua's with the next roll of his hips. His breaths were turning to pants, some of the steady patience ebbing from his rhythm.

After a softer hum low in his throat, Marcelo managed while watching Joshua's face with half-lidded eyes and another smirk: "Then you'll love how I sound next time, güerito, when you're inside me." Another groan as heated tension built in his groin and thighs. "When you can make me fucking sing, huh? Get me ready 'til I'm squirming on your lap, and I show you how good I can ride." Marcelo swore in Spanish under a shaky, hitched breath, and tried to continue while he chased both their peaks in the erratic squeezes of his hand. "Or maybe push my knees up to my chest... either way, I want you to watch me, see what you do to me... Ah— Joshua!" His voice became almost reedy with the strain of sheer arousal, the pleading note clearer now.

Watch me. See what you do. I can only be like this with you.

As the once steady rhythm of each thrust began to alter ( faster and harder now until a deep groan formed in his throat ), he fought to keep his eyes open, despite the temptation to tilt his head back and let go. It would be so easy to give in to the relentless heat low in his stomach that was consuming him with every roll of hips, he knew it would. But it wouldn't be as good. Joshua wanted it together, with Marcelo's forehead pressed against his while his hand grew slicker with the evidence of his beloved friend's pleasure mingling with his.

After all, the promise of watching Marcelo unravel on top of him, his companion's breaths quickening into pants and that steady pace devolving with its eagerness, was enough to make him want to last however long he could to enjoy it.

At the squeezes of Marcelo's grip, a loud moan was wrenched loose, the thrill that they were too varied to predict fizzing through his veins. Allowing the words the vaquero wove in-tandem to silence everything else, Joshua harbored no notion of what sounds left his lips in response, only that they did ( eager, unabashed ). If this felt so unbelievably good, he could only imagine what it would feel like with his length buried deep in Marcelo — and every sentence groaned in-between them carved the image clearer into his mind. Ah, dammit! The blunt tips of his nails dragged down Marcelo's back again and again, like each scratch of skin could keep him from falling over the edge if they were harsh enough. And perhaps they did. Suddenly, Joshua could hear the strain in Marcelo's voice as it formed his name; they were together, too close to scramble for purchase before bliss crested like a wave.

He managed to last for a second more, yet that was all he needed.

Marcelo's visage was perfect, pleasure clinging to handsome features illuminated by moonlight. And the desperate breaths and moans — ! Interwoven with the unabating grind of their hips, with Marcelo watching him, it was all too much. Grasping those soft curls with his free hand, Joshua followed over the precipice. The pleasure practically struck him bone-deep as he arched up from the grass once more, the loud cry of Marcelo's name the only word he was capable of forming.

He even loved the way it felt leaving his tongue.

He wanted to sear the look on Joshua's face into his memory, wanted it to be the first of many pleasured expressions he'd carry with him to his grave.

The grip on his hair made his lips part wider and his cock twitch just once more. And even so, Marcelo didn't close his eyes. He kept his hips still, instead working his hand in slow short strokes with more regular squeezes. Head held in place for now, after that beautiful cry of his name Marcelo murmured praise in lieu of littering kisses, in a mixture of English and Spanish. He at least managed to nudge their noses together, then let out a stuttered half-vocal sigh - lashes fluttering with the instinct to fall shut - when Joshua's slick thumb rubbed over his flushed tip. Marcelo barely held back from squirming, and poured that energy into returning Joshua's kiss.

'With you', 'to you'... either way, he knew his answer.

Doubly so when he heard that moan from his favorite gambler.

A flash of teeth in Marcelo's own smile, eyes low-lidded once more as he kept the roll of his hips almost excruciatingly slow. "Perfect, then. Just what I was thinking." Marcelo appreciated the joking tone around the question that followed. He wasn't keen to sour the mood with stories of fleeting nights, fuzzed at the edges just enough to pin the blame on alcohol the next morning and spare the other men's prides, to laugh it off and pretend that didn't feel like cactus needles in his lungs. He'd rather think about Joshua, making him a different sort of drunk indeed. "I think you are," he smirked.

But that softening of Marcelo's countenance! It stole the breath from him. Joshua was only just dragging it back in when Marcelo's forehead pressed against his, their noses grazing, and he lost it all over again. Damn. If he could be Marcelo's liquor, maybe the other man could be his air when the rest of his was knocked straight from his lungs.

The certainty underscoring the reply murmured between them brought his fingers back into his beloved friend's hair, twisting tightly in the dark strands. ' …I know. I don't want to be.' Joshua was aware of his own predisposition for being difficult, reckless, an ass — and although he had never believed that anything could be his without the risk of him destroying it, he swore he would keep Marcelo's heart safe.

For now, Marcelo didn't want to pull away the hands he did have, not even by a hair's breadth. It felt too good, and sparked too many of those perfect sounds from Joshua, to ever think of letting go. 'I'm not going nowhere'. He knew his favorite gambler meant every word. He also knew promises could be broken by others who hadn't made them. So Marcelo still gave his all, still held Joshua close and heated and slick, still let his newly-admitted feelings pour out of every movement and expression. And when Joshua wanted them in Marcelo's sounds too, the vaquero was happy to oblige - especially when that tender touch to his lip was followed by an impassioned rake of blunt nails down his back.

His mouth dropped open for an unabashed moan as his answer, both pleading and encouraging, at the prickling lines raised on his skin. The curve of Marcelo's spine dipped, grinding his length that much firmer against Joshua's with the next roll of his hips. His breaths were turning to pants, some of the steady patience ebbing from his rhythm.

After a softer hum low in his throat, Marcelo managed while watching Joshua's face with half-lidded eyes and another smirk: "Then you'll love how I sound next time, güerito, when you're inside me." Another groan as heated tension built in his groin and thighs. "When you can make me fucking sing, huh? Get me ready 'til I'm squirming on your lap, and I show you how good I can ride." Marcelo swore in Spanish under a shaky, hitched breath, and tried to continue while he chased both their peaks in the erratic squeezes of his hand. "Or maybe push my knees up to my chest... either way, I want you to watch me, see what you do to me... Ah— Joshua!" His voice became almost reedy with the strain of sheer arousal, the pleading note clearer now.

Watch me. See what you do. I can only be like this with you.

But as things stood, this time he'd rather give a straightforward show of his desire and affection. He'd rather make it absolutely clear what he felt for the gambler, regardless of scars or anything else.

Answering the caress down his cheek, Marcelo angled his head a little into the touch while he in turn smoothed one palm up a saddle-worn thigh. His smile broadened as he too watched Joshua... his Joshua.

A part of him had expected that head shake. None of this was really planned by either of them, and for all the other man's boasting about being 'the world's greatest lover', he was still mostly of a practical mind like Marcelo. As good an idea as it sounded to ride Joshua like a proper vaquero, that could come another time. Another time. What a dizzyingly perfect thought.

Besides, how could Marcelo ever be disappointed when Joshua offered him a frank admission and a tender touch to his lips? Pressing them to the pad of the gambler's fingertip, eyes briefly closed, he met Joshua's gaze before he answered. "Nothing wrong with that. I've never been with one sober, until you." Marcelo let that confession hang in the air while he readjusted his position. Straddling Joshua's hips once more, he aligned their cocks together and settled in, then guided one of his partner's hands to wrap partway around them both. He did the same so they were completely encircled, and let his free palm drag up Joshua's front to splay on that scarred, perfect chest. "Maybe next time I'll bring my oil along, huh?"

However, the shifting of position atop him sent all other pretense fleeing from his mind. His gaze flickered across Marcelo's body, moonlight illuminating the bare contours of it in a manner that was impossible to glance away from. In fact, Joshua was so distracted by it that the sensation of the vaquero's erection along his prompted a sharp intake of breath. His pulse was already beginning to pound eagerly when Marcelo's guiding fingers next led his to circle around the press of their lengths. Fuck. The sensation of it, combined with the sight of the red and leaking head of his cock against Marcelo's, sent a shudder through him. When Joshua said that he had never wanted anyone the way he wanted his friend, he meant it — but somehow, that desire seemed to double with each passing second until his every thought was rife with it.

Arching his back as Marcelo's palm traced a path from his stomach to his chest, the memory of pain remained beholden to the sheer pleasure of it, even when that touch brushed his scars. He tipped his head back when fingertips spread out across his skin, the deep breath he drew in this time intentional. It was then released in a huff as Marcelo spoke, before that first exquisite roll of hips — friction, beautiful friction! It was enough to grant Joshua clarity and drive him mad, both at once. A loud moan escaped his lips to intertwine with Marcelo's, yet the latter was the only one he truly heard.

Doubly so when he heard that moan from his favorite gambler.

A flash of teeth in Marcelo's own smile, eyes low-lidded once more as he kept the roll of his hips almost excruciatingly slow. "Perfect, then. Just what I was thinking." Marcelo appreciated the joking tone around the question that followed. He wasn't keen to sour the mood with stories of fleeting nights, fuzzed at the edges just enough to pin the blame on alcohol the next morning and spare the other men's prides, to laugh it off and pretend that didn't feel like cactus needles in his lungs. He'd rather think about Joshua, making him a different sort of drunk indeed. "I think you are," he smirked.

How easy it was to lose himself in his own attentions and in Joshua's responses. He didn't know how much time passed, nor did he care; for once, the rest of the world beyond this little camp was forgotten. There was only those noises, and how best to eke them from Joshua's throat; only those fingers buried in his hair, blunt nails raking along his scalp just hard enough to light up his nerves; only the taste of the other man spreading in his mouth, lingering even after another swallow.

The tension he felt against his tongue and beneath his hands was hint enough already, even before Joshua's eager warning. After a few moments of debate in his thoughts, Marcelo pulled back, licking over the flushed tip before pressing another open kiss to the base. He trailed a few more up over Joshua's groin, then the motion of Marcelo's answer brushed lips just below the other's navel.

The next sound wrung from him was a frustrated groan at Marcelo's sudden withdrawal, that lick over the reddened head of Joshua's length prompting another thrust of his hips in inadvertent eagerness. His eyes snapped open in time to watch as kisses were pressed against his skin, sending a heavy exhale stuttering past his lips. Although he did want every part of that night to last as long as possible — hell, losing Marcelo's mouth left him gritting his teeth in desperation. And as that damn, perfect mouth grazed his stomach, Joshua's arousal throbbed; he had to fight the impetuous urge to try reaching down to stroke it.

However, Marcelo's reply was a ripe distraction, a laugh escaping in spite of his petulance. A grin remained in its wake, while one hand slid free of the vaquero's hair. Tracing his thumb along Marcelo's cheekbone, Joshua silently marveled again at those handsome features, and the riveting gaze ( still shining, even here in the dark under the stars ) staring back at him from beneath long lashes. As swiftly as it had come, humor faded from his expression with each sweep of his finger. Want simmered in the curve of his lips and the survey of his green eyes, mapping every inch of Marcelo. His Marcelo.

But as things stood, this time he'd rather give a straightforward show of his desire and affection. He'd rather make it absolutely clear what he felt for the gambler, regardless of scars or anything else.

Answering the caress down his cheek, Marcelo angled his head a little into the touch while he in turn smoothed one palm up a saddle-worn thigh. His smile broadened as he too watched Joshua... his Joshua.

A part of him had expected that head shake. None of this was really planned by either of them, and for all the other man's boasting about being 'the world's greatest lover', he was still mostly of a practical mind like Marcelo. As good an idea as it sounded to ride Joshua like a proper vaquero, that could come another time. Another time. What a dizzyingly perfect thought.

Besides, how could Marcelo ever be disappointed when Joshua offered him a frank admission and a tender touch to his lips? Pressing them to the pad of the gambler's fingertip, eyes briefly closed, he met Joshua's gaze before he answered. "Nothing wrong with that. I've never been with one sober, until you." Marcelo let that confession hang in the air while he readjusted his position. Straddling Joshua's hips once more, he aligned their cocks together and settled in, then guided one of his partner's hands to wrap partway around them both. He did the same so they were completely encircled, and let his free palm drag up Joshua's front to splay on that scarred, perfect chest. "Maybe next time I'll bring my oil along, huh?"

Lashes fluttered subtly at Joshua's answering moan, before they opened to meet his favorite green eyes. Saints' mercy, just the way the other man sounded stoked half a dozen urges, not to mention what was said. Marcelo knew how true every word was. He could hear it in that roughened timbre, see it on that handsome earnest face. He could feel it in the drag of blunt nails over his scalp, his own eyes wavering shut for an indulgent moment at the sensation. He was Joshua's, not only because he was wanted (in a far better sense than any bounty), but because he wanted to be had.

The pause only lasted a breath or two, but when it was broken by Joshua's whispered offer in return, a well of emotions flooded Marcelo's chest. 'I'm yours.' Mine. So many years had been spent starving for things no food could ease, fed on enough fleeting crumbs to remind him of the ache. What little he had left, and what little he was given, were all treasured with a voracity terrified of their loss. To be granted Joshua, eagerly and on equal standing... Together or not at all. It's you and me.

She had been right, it wasn't as simple as Joshua's childish mind had believed. Still, he had always maintained that resolution, which only grew stauncher over the years: he wouldn't be anyone's, not completely. Until now, until Marcelo ( what a common refrain that had become! ). After all, what part of him didn't the vaquero have already? Joshua had allowed Marcelo to see him in ways he had sworn he would rather die than show to anyone else, while the other man knew precisely who he was but risked everything to protect him anyway. Hell, that handsome face had been the last one he held in his mind's eye when he thought he was a goner. Perhaps it was because of his time in Rose Creek that he was able to admit the truth aloud; he shouldn't have had the chance to understand it, much less say it, yet he did. In fact, Marcelo had made sure of it, finding Joshua half-dead amid the charred grass and the bodies of Bogue's men, and bringing him back.

Saying it didn't feel like he had always told himself that it would ( like he was losing some piece of who he was or the world was coming to an end ). It felt like soft curls between his fingers, like sliding that two of hearts into Marcelo's pocket, like looking into warm brown eyes, like the press of kisses to the scars he had been terrified to show, like thumbs rubbing circles against his inner thighs — ! It felt like too many things running together at once to linger on, especially with that swallow and groan around Joshua's length. A moan of his own escaped his throat; he knew he was loud, but shit. And how was he supposed to help it? He couldn't.

As a rhythm developed of Marcelo's mouth taking Joshua's cock then retreating to lavish the flushed head, it was as if it was specially designed to make him desperate: the unbearably wonderful pace of it so that he felt every euphoric second had his chin tipped back and lips parted, while the teasing that followed coaxed his hips into small, inadvertent thrusts. Differentiating between his own curses and eager sounds now verged on impossible, embarrassing as it was to admit ( and he wouldn't, not to anyone else ). One of Joshua's hands continued to tug at Marcelo's hair, and the fingers of the other scratched along the other man's scalp — harder at each bit of attention to his slit. He knew it was leaking, with the way his thighs tensed beneath the flustering brush of thumbs and the heat low in his stomach burned even hotter.

How easy it was to lose himself in his own attentions and in Joshua's responses. He didn't know how much time passed, nor did he care; for once, the rest of the world beyond this little camp was forgotten. There was only those noises, and how best to eke them from Joshua's throat; only those fingers buried in his hair, blunt nails raking along his scalp just hard enough to light up his nerves; only the taste of the other man spreading in his mouth, lingering even after another swallow.

The tension he felt against his tongue and beneath his hands was hint enough already, even before Joshua's eager warning. After a few moments of debate in his thoughts, Marcelo pulled back, licking over the flushed tip before pressing another open kiss to the base. He trailed a few more up over Joshua's groin, then the motion of Marcelo's answer brushed lips just below the other's navel.

He did glimpse what looked like the threat of tears in green eyes - or, was that just the moonlight? - but didn't remark on it. Marcelo simply took it for what it was, or at least what he liked to think of it as: a little show of trust, the deep and sincere kind too often dangerous for men like them. But it wasn't dangerous here, between each other, now or ever. He wouldn't allow it to be.

Instead, Marcelo focused on Joshua's sounds and touches. The fingers raking through his hair dragged just firm enough to close his eyes for a single, savoring blink. His head angled as knuckles skimmed down to his neck - and it was Marcelo's turn for a soft gasp, against that tempting length, at the graze over the tender mark Joshua gave him earlier.

Every urgent word from Joshua slid hot and sweet through Marcelo's veins to curl a bit tighter in his groin. Just imagining tonight ending with an array of loving bites and scratches across his body from mouth and hands, undeniable proof of how much Joshua wanted him... Madre Dios. For now, the sheer need behind that throaty groan of his name drew an end to Marcelo's teasing.

It was irrevocable and absolute and terrifying. It was everything.

Distracted now by those two words resounding in his mind, the sudden warmth of Marcelo's tongue brushing over the head of his aching length sent his back arching off the ground. Had anything ever felt this damn good? Burying both of his hands in Marcelo's hair, Joshua couldn't resist pulling on the dark strands, hard, while the vaquero's perfect mouth took him in inch by inch. That grip was perhaps the only reason he managed to refrain from bucking his hips in an impatient eagerness for more. Despite his further efforts to ground himself in the interim, the press of Marcelo's tongue along the underside of his cock had his breaths coming in quick yet even succession. But that hum! Although it was soft, the quiet resonance wrenched a deep moan past Joshua's lips, punctuated by the press of his heels into the grass.

It wasn't until a second later, when Marcelo's eyes lifted to his countenance, that he even attempted to speak ( his cadence rough and broken by sharp inhales ). "Good, 'cause what I want's you." Joshua's nails raked along Marcelo's scalp before his fingers resumed their prior grasp amid soft hair. "You're mine." For a beat, his next words felt trapped in his throat, weighted down by the years he swore to himself that he would never say them to anyone. He knew they were true — true as the setting sun and the moon rising to take its place. But it was better if he was the only one who understood that. While he was fond of his dalliances with danger, to utter those words was a disparate sort of peril that he had long believed would destroy him.

Yet they should belong to Marcelo; they did.

Lashes fluttered subtly at Joshua's answering moan, before they opened to meet his favorite green eyes. Saints' mercy, just the way the other man sounded stoked half a dozen urges, not to mention what was said. Marcelo knew how true every word was. He could hear it in that roughened timbre, see it on that handsome earnest face. He could feel it in the drag of blunt nails over his scalp, his own eyes wavering shut for an indulgent moment at the sensation. He was Joshua's, not only because he was wanted (in a far better sense than any bounty), but because he wanted to be had.

The pause only lasted a breath or two, but when it was broken by Joshua's whispered offer in return, a well of emotions flooded Marcelo's chest. 'I'm yours.' Mine. So many years had been spent starving for things no food could ease, fed on enough fleeting crumbs to remind him of the ache. What little he had left, and what little he was given, were all treasured with a voracity terrified of their loss. To be granted Joshua, eagerly and on equal standing... Together or not at all. It's you and me.

His eyes opened again to glance up, grin brushing near his favorite gambler's navel. Needy desperation suited Joshua's voice, so well that it made Marcelo want to take extra time.

A few more kisses wandered toward the other man's arousal, until Marcelo paused at the tug on his hair. His faintly vocal sigh skated over soft skin and a few pubic curls; his lashes did indeed flutter once more, a smaller smile at the corners of his mouth. Even if it hadn't been intended to make him look, how could Marcelo do otherwise, to bask in the sight of Joshua as much as any touch?

'Never wanted anyone like I want you.' They were on the same page there. Part of what had scared Marcelo into silence about his feelings for Joshua was the idea of a night like this only happening once - or worse, being brushed off as a mistake the next morning. He didn't want to drink his nerves away first, didn't want to wake alone beside an empty pillow, didn't want to keep soothing the ache with cold practicality. He yearned for this, for them, every part and in every way. There's no one he trusted more to watch his back, no one he wanted more to kiss it afterward. He would spit at fate a third time, declare that this one was his, that even gentle death would have to take them both if it wanted either.

Never had Joshua believed he might trust someone this much. Why would he, when even the smallest amounts were shattered so easily? He knew better, he had learned better. At least, until Marcelo.

When the lips that had whispered in the dusk pressed amid the curls at Joshua's groin, any attempt not to immediately lift his hips in eager response was dashed at the drag of stubble along his inner thigh; it was an entirely unfamiliar sensation, yet one that prompted a pleased gasp to escape him. Although his heartbeat was already racing as Marcelo spread his legs a little further, the translation that followed sent it pounding ever harder in his chest. ' You are never ruined in my eyes. ' Fervent emotion crashed over him in fresh waves that he would have been afraid might pull him under ( his throat tightening, the prickling behind his eyelids that he had only just managed to quash moments prior ), except for the grounding kiss Marcelo brushed beneath the desperate head of his aching cock. It was maddeningly gentle, but it still wrung forth another groan.

' I'm happy to show that, as many times as you like. Can I? ' Jittery energy flourished beneath Joshua's skin as he stroked a palm through Marcelo's hair. "'Course you can," he murmured. "Want you to." Although a further warmth flushed his countenance, he tipped his chin slightly higher as his knuckles dropped to graze along the side of Marcelo's neck and over the ruddy bruise he had left there. Hell, just looking at that single mark ( and the thought of adding more ) stoked a heat low in Joshua's stomach. Compounded by the sight and feel of Marcelo's lips brushing against his erection, he couldn't help but grasp at the other man's shoulder.

He did glimpse what looked like the threat of tears in green eyes - or, was that just the moonlight? - but didn't remark on it. Marcelo simply took it for what it was, or at least what he liked to think of it as: a little show of trust, the deep and sincere kind too often dangerous for men like them. But it wasn't dangerous here, between each other, now or ever. He wouldn't allow it to be.

Instead, Marcelo focused on Joshua's sounds and touches. The fingers raking through his hair dragged just firm enough to close his eyes for a single, savoring blink. His head angled as knuckles skimmed down to his neck - and it was Marcelo's turn for a soft gasp, against that tempting length, at the graze over the tender mark Joshua gave him earlier.

Every urgent word from Joshua slid hot and sweet through Marcelo's veins to curl a bit tighter in his groin. Just imagining tonight ending with an array of loving bites and scratches across his body from mouth and hands, undeniable proof of how much Joshua wanted him... Madre Dios. For now, the sheer need behind that throaty groan of his name drew an end to Marcelo's teasing.

And yet, Marcelo didn't rush. He wanted to see something, or else hear something (outright or evasive, he'd take either). Anything to know he wasn't and wouldn't be crossing a line. This wasn't a drunken tryst with someone he'd never see again, this was Joshua.

Lashes fluttered and lips parted again when the other man's hand raked into his hair for a small tug. Still, his gaze remained expectant. Marcelo was growing more and more aware that, despite his experience and despite his want for some sign from Joshua... he didn't know what exactly to look for. Was it the pull on his hair, or the lack of being pushed away? Was he the one expected to say something? But what?

Then that tease came, to rein in his racing thoughts. Marcelo grinned, warm and sincere and on the verge of relief. "Maybe I am. And maybe..." A pause, as he gently caught the middle finger of Joshua's wandering hand between his teeth, then kissed the knuckle. "I want to be sure you're ready for me, hermoso." His look softened, heart too cracked open to keep everything light. "...I want you so much, I can barely be patient. And I don't want to ruin this."

At least, until a finger on his meandering hand was caught between Marcelo's teeth, prompting a surprised catch in his breath before a kiss was bestowed upon his knuckle. The softening of the other man's expression kept his from regaining any semblance of humor, too suspended between the promise of gentle hands on his body and the rapid beating of his heart. ' I want you so much, I can barely be patient. ' Those next statements summoned a dusting of red to Joshua's cheeks, unanticipated flusterment rising within him once again. How did Marcelo manage to do that to him? He didn't so much assume the answer as he felt it humming through him, reaching the sweetest pitch whenever their gazes met. In this moment, it was unrelenting and strong and so good that it almost hurt.

Joshua's lips had only just parted to reply when Marcelo's pressed against his chest, the open-mouthed kisses and the sensation of breath along his skin prompting a sharp exhale as words fled from his mind. Tipping his head back, his eyes fluttered shut and, as the range of those intoxicating kisses shifted to include his stomach, he arched into them ( chasing them, vaguely aware of the eager edge to his every breath like he was hearing it underwater ). In seconds, he began to feel as if he was drowning — in the thrills of pleasure that heightened with each new touch, in the unraveling of the remaining fear of what the vaquero would think if allowed to focus too closely on the parts of himself that he didn't recognize, in the sheer fervor of his own heart aching for Marcelo — yet he craved more.

It was only when emotion prickled the backs of his eyelids ( what the hell was wrong with him? ) that Joshua scrambled to ground himself. When his now-open gaze refocused, his pulse fairly stumbled at the tantalizing sight before him. What was it that Marcelo had said before about being patient? "You've got more patience 'n I do," he complained, though his voice twisted it into more of a desperate groan. Even if Joshua might not have a view of his untouched arousal, he felt it throb whenever Marcelo's lips met a particularly sensitive patch of skin. And yet, in spite of it, he had never hoped for anyone not to give in to him so badly before. Then again, he had never felt like this before, never been with Marcelo before. He didn't wish to give or receive swift gratification, but pursue whatever kept them intertwined for as long as possible, and stitched the truth of this moment into his soul: his beloved friend still wanted him.

His eyes opened again to glance up, grin brushing near his favorite gambler's navel. Needy desperation suited Joshua's voice, so well that it made Marcelo want to take extra time.

A few more kisses wandered toward the other man's arousal, until Marcelo paused at the tug on his hair. His faintly vocal sigh skated over soft skin and a few pubic curls; his lashes did indeed flutter once more, a smaller smile at the corners of his mouth. Even if it hadn't been intended to make him look, how could Marcelo do otherwise, to bask in the sight of Joshua as much as any touch?

'Never wanted anyone like I want you.' They were on the same page there. Part of what had scared Marcelo into silence about his feelings for Joshua was the idea of a night like this only happening once - or worse, being brushed off as a mistake the next morning. He didn't want to drink his nerves away first, didn't want to wake alone beside an empty pillow, didn't want to keep soothing the ache with cold practicality. He yearned for this, for them, every part and in every way. There's no one he trusted more to watch his back, no one he wanted more to kiss it afterward. He would spit at fate a third time, declare that this one was his, that even gentle death would have to take them both if it wanted either.

Marcelo already missed that added closeness again as soon as Joshua sat back, but continuing to tease around the waistband of his favorite gambler's trousers helped. That also meant he felt, as well as saw, sudden tension coil up through the man's body while reaching back to shuck off a boot. He didn't have to seek the source for long to guess it was the long scar over Joshua's side. Being healed didn't always mean a wound stopped hurting.

Then Joshua pushed off to lay beside him again. Another wave of the night's subtle chill washed over Marcelo, though that wasn't the main reason he turned on his side toward the other man. Propped up on one elbow, he watched Joshua's face, concerned but holding onto his patience. Marcelo wanted so badly to cover every inch of that scar, and beyond, with kisses and tender touch; he wanted even to just embrace Joshua, or lay a hand on his chest, but had no idea if that'd make things better or worse.

That Joshua then took his hand was encouraging, though he noticed where it was placed didn't involve any more bare skin. Still, Marcelo did chance leaning in for a kiss to one corner of Joshua's mouth. "And I mean it." He sat up and moved between the man's legs to get better leverage, first for that remaining boot and the sock beneath. One hand trailed down Joshua's clothed leg to get there, while Marcelo continued, "I can tell already, in your arms is my favorite place to be." Where else, after all, did he have the chance to just be himself instead of a wanted outlaw?

Despite his own disquietude, he appreciated Marcelo's quick shift between his legs for the time being, his left hand falling into the grass by his head. He wasn't sure where he wished to look, whether at the vaquero, the hand traveling down his leg, or the darkened sky overhead. The decision was settled for Joshua when the sound of Marcelo's voice immediately grabbed his attention. ' I can tell already, in your arms is my favorite place to be. ' Another soft huff escaped him, his lips somehow adorned with flustered levity even amid everything. "That's where I want you to be," he said, his tone still a little quieter as his remaining boot was cast aside. Marcelo was distracting, intentionally or not, and Joshua wasn't sorry about it.

He didn't watch as the vaquero removed his trousers, though he did lift his hips to ensure the process was even a bit simpler. It was a relief to finally free his aching arousal, the gratification of it accompanied by a sharp, appreciative inhale; shit, it felt better than he had anticipated. However, when his eyes returned to Marcelo, Joshua wasn't sure of what he glimpsed there. Palms were trailing back up his legs, yet the act of it struck him as more careful than lingering. No words came, instead leaving that dark gaze, and a quality in it that he couldn't quite read, to speak into a silence punctuated by his own eager breaths.

He wasn't pulled back on top of Marcelo, nor did he feel the touch he craved. Why? Why was Marcelo waiting? To clarify that he was comfortable, probably, but Joshua wasn't sure. Say something, Marcelo. Do something — the thought reverberated in his ears like an echo. Although he was far from self-conscious concerning anything about his appearance other than his scars, he wondered suddenly if seeing them in conjunction with the rest of him made them seem more real. Worse. Joshua's left hand slid again into Marcelo's hair, using the strands twined around his fingers to tip his companion's chin just slightly higher, as if it might help him grasp a meaning found there. It didn't. Just say something: he didn't have to fight to refrain from uttering the sentiment aloud, since it was already trapped in his throat. While Marcelo had seen more facets of him in one evening than most ever would, he wasn't certain that he could allow this last one to shatter, to reveal the part of him that was riddled with a desperate trepidation to know that what he couldn't read wasn't regret.

And yet, Marcelo didn't rush. He wanted to see something, or else hear something (outright or evasive, he'd take either). Anything to know he wasn't and wouldn't be crossing a line. This wasn't a drunken tryst with someone he'd never see again, this was Joshua.

Lashes fluttered and lips parted again when the other man's hand raked into his hair for a small tug. Still, his gaze remained expectant. Marcelo was growing more and more aware that, despite his experience and despite his want for some sign from Joshua... he didn't know what exactly to look for. Was it the pull on his hair, or the lack of being pushed away? Was he the one expected to say something? But what?

Then that tease came, to rein in his racing thoughts. Marcelo grinned, warm and sincere and on the verge of relief. "Maybe I am. And maybe..." A pause, as he gently caught the middle finger of Joshua's wandering hand between his teeth, then kissed the knuckle. "I want to be sure you're ready for me, hermoso." His look softened, heart too cracked open to keep everything light. "...I want you so much, I can barely be patient. And I don't want to ruin this."

Half of his breathy vocal noise, coaxed out by the other's teasing thumb, disappeared into Joshua's mouth. The rest of Marcelo's exhale was an encouraging sigh at the tug of teeth on his lip, and he answered it with a soft peck just before Joshua pulled away. That same lip was then caught between his own teeth, while fingers curled a little more around the sides of Joshua's clothed length. Though it'd been clear in other ways, Marcelo still found it heady as a dark wine how he'd caused that want, how this was so far from drunken stress relief with a handsome face. The last clinging strands of a long-familiar isolation slipped away - sure to return, but not yet. Not when his mind spun with so many desires, he was glad he'd already laid down.

Cool evening air met the warm skin of his hips as his trousers were pulled a little lower, though heat tinged his countenance as his friend continued speaking. Joshua wasn't certain that anyone ever flustered him in the manner Marcelo seemed capable of, with affectionate sentiments threaded through with a kind of eager longing. They always reddened his cheeks and conjured again that sensation of a finger trailing down his spine, as if he didn't simply hear them, but felt them, too. His grin widening, he leaned forward and slid his hands into Marcelo's hair. "If that's how it is, then I may never let you sober up." Tilting his head, Joshua pressed kisses down Marcelo's neck before nipping at a soft patch of skin. However, this time, he didn't stop until fresh color bloomed beneath his lips. "But with my kinda drunk, I wanna make sure you remember everything." No waking up the morning after a long night at the saloon with nothing but hazy recollections, or the sort of liquor-induced blissful darkness he was no stranger to; only memories of the two of them.

Despite how easy it was to grow distracted with the other man beneath him, all of the possible ideas Marcelo had mentioned with a palm against his arousal spun around Joshua's thoughts, along with that desperate need to remove his uncomfortably tight trousers. Leaning back again for the final time, he turned so that he could grasp his remaining boot — only to stop when tugging at the heel caused a sudden pull of discomfort to coil through him. It was a familiar sensation courtesy of the damned scar below his ribs that ran across his side, especially during those initial weeks out of bed after the battle, when he had tallied up the list of movements he needed to relearn to avoid the pain, and his frustration boiled over when the number was more than one. It had gotten a little better the more he moved, but stretching around so far like he was now was new. Aggravation flooded Joshua, the fingers still behind him curling into a tight fist before it dropped to his thigh as he shifted his position. He wasn't certain if he needed to explain this, but he didn't really want to.

Marcelo already missed that added closeness again as soon as Joshua sat back, but continuing to tease around the waistband of his favorite gambler's trousers helped. That also meant he felt, as well as saw, sudden tension coil up through the man's body while reaching back to shuck off a boot. He didn't have to seek the source for long to guess it was the long scar over Joshua's side. Being healed didn't always mean a wound stopped hurting.

Then Joshua pushed off to lay beside him again. Another wave of the night's subtle chill washed over Marcelo, though that wasn't the main reason he turned on his side toward the other man. Propped up on one elbow, he watched Joshua's face, concerned but holding onto his patience. Marcelo wanted so badly to cover every inch of that scar, and beyond, with kisses and tender touch; he wanted even to just embrace Joshua, or lay a hand on his chest, but had no idea if that'd make things better or worse.

That Joshua then took his hand was encouraging, though he noticed where it was placed didn't involve any more bare skin. Still, Marcelo did chance leaning in for a kiss to one corner of Joshua's mouth. "And I mean it." He sat up and moved between the man's legs to get better leverage, first for that remaining boot and the sock beneath. One hand trailed down Joshua's clothed leg to get there, while Marcelo continued, "I can tell already, in your arms is my favorite place to be." Where else, after all, did he have the chance to just be himself instead of a wanted outlaw?

Though he watched and felt his favorite gambler's hand inch ever closer to his groin, a breathy vocal noise still jumped from his throat, as if in surprise, when fingertips skimmed down the underside of his length. Absence of any bed partners since long before Chisolm had recruited him, plus such sharper clarity of sensations compared to alcohol-fogged memories, left Marcelo more sensitive than he'd expected. He reached to rest a hand over the one holding his hip. His next breath shivered softly while Joshua's hand stroked with perfect, frustrating slowness over his cock. It was an effort not to squirm or thrust up, his thighs and stomach tensing a few times.

Marcelo's mouth fell open a bit wider with the attention focused on his tip, a more apparent moan escaping at the teases. He wanted more, so much more, wanted to drown in Joshua - but just as ardently, he wanted to take as much time as they could stand. He wanted to pull down all his walls, just for his dearest friend, his lover, whatever they were now; he hoped Joshua would do the same.

The realization that he had uttered the sentiment aloud didn't quite hit him until he felt the other man's fingers on his arm. Settling his gaze on Marcelo's face, the smile that accompanied the blush Joshua found there spoke to it well enough, with any remaining doubts quashed by the reply that came next. Red returned to his cheeks, though he found that he wasn't sorry he had said it, especially not when it coaxed forth such an expression to that handsome visage. He grinned at the compliment he then received in return, yet he was simultaneously so flustered by it that he was almost tongue-tied. With only the rising moon to bear witness, the words had left Marcelo's enticing lips — not while looking at Joshua before the battle, but as he was now. His heartbeat fairly stumbled over itself under that dark gaze, and he didn't care.

Following another tantalizing groan, Marcelo's hips lifting in search of further friction unconsciously sent his own canting forward slightly. The fingertips that then dragged down Joshua's chest and stomach were akin to a palpable demonstration of the earlier reply, one that he leaned into with an eager resounding in his throat. Marcelo's question, however, was almost an echo of the one that had earlier sent him into a state of near panic: ' Can I return the favor? ' Only this time, he would answer the way he wished he could have then ( he wasn't the least bit hesitant to be rid of his trousers, before or now ).

Half of his breathy vocal noise, coaxed out by the other's teasing thumb, disappeared into Joshua's mouth. The rest of Marcelo's exhale was an encouraging sigh at the tug of teeth on his lip, and he answered it with a soft peck just before Joshua pulled away. That same lip was then caught between his own teeth, while fingers curled a little more around the sides of Joshua's clothed length. Though it'd been clear in other ways, Marcelo still found it heady as a dark wine how he'd caused that want, how this was so far from drunken stress relief with a handsome face. The last clinging strands of a long-familiar isolation slipped away - sure to return, but not yet. Not when his mind spun with so many desires, he was glad he'd already laid down.

While angling his feet to help remove his boots and socks, Marcelo smiled wider in return. The effort to answer as much as Joshua had understood was sweet - but in a way, he was glad the rest was left unknown. Much as he loved matching Joshua's teases, Marcelo needed to be out of his clothes, to feel those hands on every inch of bared skin. "You already are, guerito," he murmured.

Marcelo took notice of that pause, but only had enough time to wonder at its cause before his silent question was answered. The significance of the other man's shirt being shed wasn't lost on him. He could see the rising moon's light catch on a few scars, just as it did in that soft hair. But they were just extra additions to the man he'd never expected to fall for; Joshua was still Joshua, nothing less.

He slipped easily into mutual distraction as his dearest friend's palms found his chest, lips parting for a soft inhale. The hand he'd rested on his own front met Joshua's arm and trailed gradually upward, while its opposite slid onto the man's side. Head tipping back a little and eyes falling shut at the kisses to his neck, Marcelo's sigh stumbled into an encouraging groan with those tugs to one nipple. The sound dragged out longer, and a bit breathier at the end, petering into a warm laugh then a groan. That subtle friction had his hips rolling, almost squirming, against Joshua's palm.

Marcelo let slip a faint gasp as well. Never had he been less worried over being marked up, nor had he been more eager to be left with reminders of the night. But first, these damn pants. He was glad to feel Joshua taking his underclothes with them. The less time this took, the better. So even before the other man had finished his request, Marcelo was lowering his hands to brace both elbows and raise his hips.

If he wasn't so dead set on getting rid of Marcelo's trousers as soon as humanly possible, he may have stolen another kiss. Well, there would be plenty of time for that — !

His determination to now make quick work of them was followed through as Marcelo was divested of them in a few brief tugs. Tossing them to the side, they fell atop his shirt; he harbored no desire to see either garment again any time soon. When Joshua turned his full attention to Marcelo once more, his breath nearly caught in his throat. Shit, he could feel a heat creeping into his face, like the first time he had ever been with a girl ( seventeen years old, and that seemed like a lifetime ago ). Soundlessly, he mouthed Marcelo's name as he leaned in to rest one hand on the vaquero's bare hip, the other smoothing up a warm inner thigh. As Joshua's gaze flickered upwards for a short second, he was pleased to witness the visage opposite his own displaying an obvious blush across handsome features.

His palm reaching its ultimate destination, he didn't pause before grazing his fingertips along the underside of Marcelo's cock, then wrapping them around the base. The stroke that followed was slow, slower than perhaps he would have expected of himself, yet he found that he was loathe to miss any reactions he might garner ( they were just as heady as the sensation of the arousal in his hand ). When Joshua reached the tip, he was almost intensely fascinated by its flush; unconsciously, his tongue gave a fleeting brush against his lower lip. Circling the head with his thumb, a mere few beats passed before he began teasing it back and forth against the slit.

Though he watched and felt his favorite gambler's hand inch ever closer to his groin, a breathy vocal noise still jumped from his throat, as if in surprise, when fingertips skimmed down the underside of his length. Absence of any bed partners since long before Chisolm had recruited him, plus such sharper clarity of sensations compared to alcohol-fogged memories, left Marcelo more sensitive than he'd expected. He reached to rest a hand over the one holding his hip. His next breath shivered softly while Joshua's hand stroked with perfect, frustrating slowness over his cock. It was an effort not to squirm or thrust up, his thighs and stomach tensing a few times.

Marcelo's mouth fell open a bit wider with the attention focused on his tip, a more apparent moan escaping at the teases. He wanted more, so much more, wanted to drown in Joshua - but just as ardently, he wanted to take as much time as they could stand. He wanted to pull down all his walls, just for his dearest friend, his lover, whatever they were now; he hoped Joshua would do the same.